


Veritaserum

by abbygxrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Indian James Potter, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Multi, Plot Twists, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Sirius Black & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, Veritaserum, but we love them anyways, it MEANS major character death, james potter is an arrogant toe rag, the black sisters are everything you didn't know you needed, the marauders are stupid idiots, when it says major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbygxrl/pseuds/abbygxrl
Summary: in which mikaela winters is tired of lies, the marauders share a single brain cell, and dumbledore is just as much of an asshole as you'd expect
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)





	Veritaserum

**Author's Note:**

> this is like the third time i've rewritten this story --
> 
> anyways, this was the first fan fiction i ever started writing but it's evolved so much now and i really hope you guys enjoy it. it definitely has a special place in my heart and i'm really excited for all the improvements that i'm making.
> 
> much love <3

I took a deep breath. "And this could -- this would help the cause?"

Those blue eyes were earnest. Honest. Undeniable.

"Frankly, Ms. Winters, it would be a game changer."

I steeled myself. There was no going back after I made this choice, no exit on the highway when the speed limit was too high. I knew that this was unreasonable -- I didn't even know what I was getting into. I wasn't stupid enough to put myself in an unknown but certainly dangerous situation. Yet --  _ yet _ \-- deep down I already knew my decision.

My stupid, dangerous, but inevitable decision.

"What do I need to do?"

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

_ Six years earlier: _

Mikaela Winters led a rather unremarkable life, that is, until her eleventh birthday. She had all the normal issues girls had as they grew up, from mean peers to divorced parents. Naturally a quiet person, Mikaela didn’t bother standing up for herself against the bullies and did not complain when her parents started fighting. Instead, she put up walls of titanium, strong enough to keep the bullets out. She willed her bones to be made out of steel. 

And she believed they were.

At primary school, Mikaela took the insults of her peers as they came and decided that she wouldn't let the taunts get to her. Nerd, bookworm, mute -- it didn't matter.  _ Sticks and stones may break my bones _ , Mikaela reminded herself,  _ but words can never hurt me. _

It hurt more than she let on -- of course it did -- but she never let them see her cry. She was stronger than that. Her silence in response to the teasing was a different kind of strength, but it was strength all the same. 

At the age of nine, Mikaela's father left her and her mother. She felt his void like an empty hole in her heart, but it was better than the fighting between her parents before he left. She never really understood what they fought about, but they seemed to find something new every night. She had to commend their creativity.

They never seemed to care about how Mikaela felt, and that was fine with her. She liked to pretend she had no feelings about it anyways.

When they fought, Mikaela simply read a book. Reading was her escape into another life, a place where she could be a daring heroine and speak up for herself and travel around the world and fall in love and do a million things she could never do in real life. 

But on that fateful July day, when her letter came, it changed everything.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Smiling sleepily, Mikaela rolled over in her bed, eyes widening when the sugary sweet smell of pancakes and the sizzle of bacon flooded her senses. Mikaela, eleven years old today, dashed down the stairs, her feet thumping loudly as she went. Her soft socks made her slip and slide down the hardwood stairs, but her excitement for the day ahead blocked out everything else.

"Be careful, baby girl!" called her mother from the kitchen, giggling.

"Hey! I'm not a baby anymore!" exclaimed Mikaela proudly. She drew herself up to her full height with a smug smile. "I'm eleven years old now."

Her mom ruffled her hair and pulled her in for a hug. Mikaela looked up at her mom admiringly. With her gorgeous blonde locks that were straight as a pin, skin dusted with freckles, and grey-green eyes, she was more beautiful than Mikaela could ever hope to be. 

Yes, Mikaela had the same smattering of freckles and a hint of green in her brown eyes, but she often wondered if her mother resented the way she looked so much like her father with wavy, dark hair and tan skin.

When her mom finished making their traditional birthday breakfast, Mikaela and her mom sat down at the table. Cutting her pancake, Mikaela eagerly ate bite after bite, molten chocolate chips exploding in her mouth.

"Mmmm," Mikaela sighed. "Your pancakes are as good as always, Mum."

As her mom beamed at the compliment, Mikaela was hit by a wave of appreciation for her wonderful mother. Although she could be unreasonably strict at times, she was Mikaela's best friend. Her only friend. She never felt like she belonged with the rest of her -- in her opinion -- immature peers. Despite feeling that ache of being on the outskirts, she was usually able to convince herself that her mom was enough. 

As Mikaela finished her delicious meal, her mom went to go get all the birthday cards that had been sent in the mail. Opening these cards together was another one of their traditions, and Mikaela always opened her mother's gift last.

As soon as her mom put the cards on the table, Mikaela picked them up like they were a lifeline and she was out in the middle of the sea. Eagerly, she flipped through the small number, hoping, praying there would be one . . . 

She sighed as she made it back to the beginning.

Her mom sighed too, mirroring her reaction, and ran a hand over Mikaela's messy bedhead with a soothing touch. 

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this, hon. I really thought he would send a letter this time." 

She shook her head as she spoke, something like guilt or pity flashing across her face.

Mikaela plastered a smile over the hole she felt expanding in her chest and squeezed a tiny “It's fine.” out of the tightness of her throat.

Her mother’s parents being dead and her lack of contact with her father’s family meant that all of the cards were from family friends, not actual blood. Mikaela’s mother had taught her from a young age that family had nothing to do with blood, and she’d embraced it. 

Still, sometimes she felt it only widened the barrier between her and her peers. Her peers, who had grandmothers dropping them off at school and siblings to fight with, but smile and bump shoulders in that secret way after.  _ Comparison is the thief of joy _ , she reminded herself.

Finally, Mikaela's hands closed around the last letter. As she picked it up, she shut her eyes to savor the moment but opened them when something felt strange about the letter. 

Instead of the normal type of paper used for envelopes, this letter was encased in rough parchment, and it was as if she could feel every fiber of it. Sealed by a red wax emblem, the name and address was written in green ink with a . . . calligraphy pen? 

Her curiosity suddenly alight, Mikaela opened the letter and scanned through it quickly.

_ Dear Mrs. Mikaela Winters,  _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  _

Mikaela looked up from the letter, brows furrowed in confusion. Could this be a joke sent from Uncle Henry? It was possible, but even he wouldn't put this much work into a prank. She handed it mutely to her mom so she could see her reaction. 

Those murky green eyes widened and darkened as she read the letter.

"No," she muttered furiously, "no, no, no this can't be. I swore to myself you wouldn't be like  _ them _ ." 

"What's wrong, Mum?" Mikaela asked tentatively. "What does the letter even mean? Is it just another one of Uncle Henry's jokes?"

“For God’s sake, be quiet; I’m trying to think,” she snapped.

Mikaela flinched, feeling the immediate reflex of tears welling in her eyes. Her mother could make her feel happier than anyone; in fact when she was in a good mood, Mikaela felt as if she, too, was on top of the world. But when she got caught up in one of her dark clouds . . .

_ Curiosity killed the cat _ , she told herself. But she’d never been great at resisting her own mind.

“I don’t underst --”

Her mother grabbed her shoulders and shook them briefly, making Mikaela clamp her mouth shut.

“ _ Be quiet _ ,” she hissed, the poison in her words also roiling in her eyes.

After what felt like so long -- Mikaela was just sitting in her wooden chair, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks, not even daring to move her wrist from under her leg where it was falling asleep -- her mother starting explaining in a low voice.

There was a world out there, a world filled with magic, but it was  _ bad _ and  _ evil _ and  _ dangerous _ , and Mikaela could never be a part of it.

_ What you don’t know can’t hurt you.  _ How was she supposed to live now that she knew what could be? So all the while, where no one could see, not even her mother, Mikaela's heart began to hope. 

_ Maybe there’s a place where I could belong. _

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

After her first Christmas of discovering she was a witch, Mikaela's mom realized her power would only grow, and the random bursts of power Mikaela often had were a danger to them both. So, one snowy winter day, Mikaela was brought to London by her mother and was extremely confused when her mom asked Mikaela to find "a dingy, dirty pub filled with strange people that is called the Leaky Cauldron".

Perplexed, Mikaela cocked her head like a baby kitten and looked at her mom. "Why can't you find it?"

Her mom blushed a vivid, angry red. "Only you,  _ your kind _ , can find it."

Seeing the pub on a street corner, Mikaela pulled her mom toward it excitedly. Her mom dug her feet in until it seemed that she had passed some invisible barrier, and suddenly, they were inside. 

People greeted them cheerfully, and the toothless bartender called out, "Anything to drink for the ladies?"

Not deigning to respond, Mikaela's mom pushed Mikaela hurriedly to the back of the store where she used a stick leaning against the red brick wall to tap a sequence of individual bricks.  _ How'd she know that?  _

In awe, Mikaela watched as the bricks peeled back to reveal the product of her anticipation.

The narrow street was filled with hustle and bustle as parents dragged children, owls squawked loudly, and shopkeepers yelled their bargains into the air. It may have been just as cramped, loud, and, yes, dirty as the rest of London, but there was not denying it -- every square inch of this place was filled with magic.

And Mikaela loved it.

Looking disapprovingly at the street full of pandemonium in front of them, Mikaela's mom dragged her to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, where they bought all the basics -- Mikaela did her best to run her finger across the spines of every single book as her mom hunted a few titles with the accuracy of a hawk -- and to the wand shop, run by Mr. Ollivander.

Mikaela wondered briefly how her mother had gotten the wizarding currency but shook the feeling of unease off. There were more important things going on around her.

A small bell chimed as they walked through the door, carrying a gust of the winter wind with them. Mikaela looked around her as they entered the wand shop, drinking in the sight of boxes upon boxes of what she could only assume were wands. The place felt homey and inviting, and excitement was building in Mikaela. The whole place smelled of dust, wood, and age, yet Mikaela could feel the magic coursing through the room and thrumming in her veins. 

Her mother continued to frown as if the expression had been etched into her face of stone.

A man with ashy hair and eyes that somehow matched abruptly popped out from behind one of the shelves, those pale eyes dancing in the dim lighting. 

"Hmm, interesting," he muttered whimsically. Mikaela already liked Mr. Ollivander. He seemed magical, albeit weird. "I would guess that your wand had broken, but I have never seen you here before. Why did you not come with the rest of your peers before the first of September?"

Mikaela's mother looked at him sharply. "Just to be clear, my daughter will not be attending Hogwarts or any other magical schools. The wand is only to help her control her powers as I will homeschool her until she  _ can _ control her powers."

Ollivander did not look happy about the way the conversation had progressed, and Mikaela wholeheartedly agreed with him. As he opened his mouth, presumably to argue, Mikaela's mom cut him off before he had the chance to speak.

"You sell wands, correct? Well, I have money, and my personal business is none of your concern. Can we please speed this up so we can get home?" she demanded, a note of pleading hidden under her forceful tone.

With a reluctant nod of his head, Ollivander disappeared into the maze of shelves, Mikaela's mother sighing in relief. To Mikaela's surprise, he proceeded to give her over seven wands to test. 

Several shattered pots and knocked over shelves later, Mikaela felt a rush of warmth as she picked up the next wand. It was made of hazel wood, was 11 inches long, and had a core of dragon heartstring. As Mikaela waved this wand with a flourish, all the broken items and boxes of wands strewn across the floor were repaired and put back in their places.

"Ah! How lovely!" Ollivander exclaimed happily. "An instant connection between witch and wand."

Mikaela smiled proudly at her wand, amazed at how powerful this strong stick of wood made her feel. Her mother had to drag her to the counter, and Ollivander helped her count the galleons and sickles. It was clear that Mikaela's mom thought the magical world was contagious, and she swept Mikaela back home as soon as she could. 

Little did she know, her daughter's love for the Wizarding World was already rooted deep in her veins.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

_ The present: _

My jaw popped as I yawned and rolled over in bed. I stared at my alarm clock: 8:07 am. On a Saturday morning, that was enough time for about two more hours of sleep.

Just as I was about to settle back in, my eyes opened wide.  _ It's my birthday. _ A half-smile flitted across my face as I grabbed a scrunchie from my bedside table and put my waist length black hair up in a messy bun. Getting head rush from standing so quickly, I slowly walked down the stairs and folded into my mother's waiting arms.

"Look at my baby, all grown up. Sixteen years old," she murmured softly, a single tear trailing down her cheek. I wiped it away with my thumb and laughed, feeling the slow but insistent burn of tears behind my eyes as well. 

"Stop, you'll make me cry too!" I joked. 

For some reason, the sight of someone else crying was enough to bring me to tears as well, and it could be kind of embarrassing at times. Some random girl crying in the hallway at school? Better go make sure your makeup doesn't run. Watching a movie when an actor starts to cry and it's not even sad? The waterworks are still coming.

We ate our traditional breakfast, and I opened all my cards. Still none from my dad, and none from Hogwarts either. The two letters I wanted most weren't even here. 

I let the disappointment roll off my shoulders. I’d gotten good at it, after all.

After seeing the magical world, I hadn’t been able to stop dreaming about it. So the disappointment of reality? Yeah, I was used to that.

The only good thing to come of these years of silence, however, was that they’d turned me into an observer. Despite making a couple surface-level friends so we could pretend to enjoy lunch rather than sitting alone, I learned to use my silence as a shell. A weapon. But recently, I realized how lonely that silence had made me. 

And I would do anything I could to change.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

As the sun began to set, I built up my resolve to ask my mom the same question I always did on my birthday.  _ Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  _ Despite venturing every year, I’d still gained nothing, but I had to try.

As I opened my mouth, my mom saw the look on my face and already started to shake her head.

"Mum," I whispered. A part of me crumbled inside as she barely looked up from her knitting. " _ Mum! _ "

"Sweetie, I know what you want--" my mom began.

"No," I interrupted sharply. "I'm sorry, but I'm done living this fake life. Do you know how lonely it is for me at school? How it feels to not belong in the slightest? I need to go to Hogwarts, Mum. And I'm done asking for your permission. Now I just want your support, because I am going to Hogwarts. I have all my money saved up and the means to get there if I just send a letter asking for help and financial aid."

My mom's eyes filled with tears, angry or sad I couldn't tell, and a flower of guilt began to grow in my stomach. But I squashed it down. I had been submissive for too long,  _ silent _ for too long.

I’d always known that I’d had a dependent relationship with my mom. It was how we worked, and that was that. But I’d never considered that maybe she was the only one benefitting. 

The thought fueled my courage.

"You know I just want what's best for you, and magic is  _ not _ \--" she started, and again, I cut her off.

"I know he hurt you when he left," I spoke haltingly. She flinched, and I knew I had hit right on the mark. It was my aim, but it hurt more than I thought it would. My voice broke as I continued. "But I'm not like him, and magic isn't a bad thing. Whether you like it or not, it is a part of me. You know how hard it is for me to leave you, Mum. You're my best friend. My only friend. That's why I need your support; it would be so much harder to have to do this without you."

Defeated, my mom looked down. At her core, she could never deny me of this. I knew it. I knew it. I could see it in her for-once clear jade eyes.

I had to believe it. There wasn’t another option.

“I won’t stop you anymore.”  _ Clear like the calm before the storm.  _ “But this is something I can  _ never _ support you in.”

A small gasp escaped me, and it was the first wind of autumn rustling the green trees of summer.

I thought love was conditional. But everything had its limits.

I had been wrong, in so many ways. She wasn’t defeated by her love for me, she was defeated by her hatred of who I was.

_ It’s better to have loved and lost _ , I told myself.

I wondered if I’d ever really believed myself.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

  
  
  
  



End file.
